Page 59 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“I can keep it simmering on the stove until ye return,” she offered.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Jon said quickly, before he had a chance to change his mind. “I don’t expect I will return before midnight.”
*
Taking the reinsof his phaeton, Jon set a brisk pace on his route to the Rogue’s Lair. The evening was foggy. No surprise there. But the full moon managed to show itself among the clouds. On this night when he felt strangely unsettled, more discontent than he had in ages, he wanted nothing more than a hearty drink and perhaps a few bites of food he knew couldn’t possibly hold a candle to Mrs. Gilroy’s stew.
He’d needed to leave the house. He’d needed to put distance between him and Belle. This was no time to think of what might’ve been—of what they might’ve had together. At this moment in their lives, she trusted that he would protect her. Shewas vulnerable. He could not take advantage of her, no matter what.
Jon had no sooner walked into the pub than a familiar voice greeted him. “Jon, I’m surprised to see ye here tonight.” Logan MacLain stood by the bar, a well-filled stein in his hand.
“I might say the same,” Jon replied. “I was not expecting you to return from the Highlands before the end of the month.”
“I received word of a new opportunity, a possible partnership that might lead to an expansion.” Logan motioned to the barkeep to bring a pint for Jon. “I’ll brief ye on the details later.”
“An expansion?” Jon considered the thought. “It may prove worthwhile.”
“It will be,” Logan said with his typical brash confidence. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“I’m more interested in the financial projections than your creaky bones, but we shall see,” Jon responded, pragmatic as always.
Logan shot him a muted scowl. “Sometimes, a man has to trust his gut.”
“Indeed,” Jon said. That particular strategy had worked well for Logan. Every venture the Scot touched had proved a rousing success. But Jon still trusted a logical analysis over any semblance of intuition.
Logan chuckled. “Ye still haven’t learned to have faith in yers, have ye?”
“Only when it tells me I’ve eaten too many of Mrs. Gilroy’s heavy dumplings,” Jon replied as the barkeep placed a stein before him. “I take it Amelia and your son are well.”
“Amelia—brave woman that my lovely wife is—has charmed the old lion.” Logan smiled as he referred to his aging father. “She decided to stay with my family a while longer so Finnegan might have more time with his grandfather. Our boy melted my father’s heart like nothing I’d ever thought I’d see.”
Jon took a hearty draught of cold ale. “When you found Amelia, you struck gold, my friend.”
“Aye, when I wake up with Amelia by my side, I still wonder at my good fortune,” Logan said. He glanced about the room, then lowered his voice before he went on. “I suggest we continue this discussion in my office.”
“That would be wise,” Jon agreed.
Once they were behind the sturdy doors of his oak paneled office, Logan spoke freely. “I understand ye’ve had an unexpected visitor since I left for the Highlands.”
Jon took another drink. “Are you referring to the child, the cat, or the woman?”
“When Macie wrote Amelia about the young lass in yer care, she mentioned ye’re also looking after her cantankerous feline.” Logan chuckled. “So that leaves the woman. Murray said she’s an American.”
“She is.” Jon felt a sudden tension in the back of his neck. “I presume he told you who she is.”
Logan shook his head. “He said if I care to know, I should ask ye.”
“Did he now?”
“He mentioned the lass was under yer protection, but he did not care to elaborate.”
“Murray is indeed a man of few words,” Jon said.
“Now that is an understatement.” Logan took a seat in his wing-back chair. “Care to tell me what in blazes is going on?”
Jon settled into a chair and stretched out his legs. “A few nights ago, Arabelle Frost came through the door of this pub.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The pretty lass ye knew in New York?”
